


Keep It Wet: Stiles' POV

by mildmanneredmissy



Series: Wet Is Always Better [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, POV Stiles, Wet Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 19:51:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13371894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mildmanneredmissy/pseuds/mildmanneredmissy
Summary: Companion piece to Keep It Wet, can be read separately.How Stiles used his awesome flirting skills to seduce Derek.





	Keep It Wet: Stiles' POV

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks to dirtyprettythings and mostly_empty_spaces again!

Something was wrong with Derek. He was acting very suspiciously. Stiles’ day was trying enough as it was; getting caught in yet another summer rain while searching for an elusive plant in the depths of the preserve. Now the only highlight of the day - getting to be in the presence of the surliest werewolf in all of Beacon Hills - was slipping through his fingers as Derek stomped off to stare at a close by tree trunk.

Stiles sighed the weary sigh of a man twice his age, weighed down by the realisation that this was his life. He pulled the wet shirt off his back just to have it slap right back, forming to his body like it belonged there. It was his own fault for not bringing an umbrella when it rained almost constantly in Beacon Hills nowadays, but in his eagerness to volunteer as Derek’s herb-hunting buddy, the thought had never even crossed his mind.

And now he didn’t even get to enjoy his regular light-hearted banter with the man, because as soon as Stiles turned his head to dazzle him with a quip about the weather, Derek whipped his gaze to the forest and developed a keen interest in tree bark. Didn’t he spend enough time in the woods to admire the majesty of nature in his own time?

This was supposed to be Stiles’ feel-good time, when he got to chat with Derek - meaning Stiles got to talk nonstop and Derek grunted every once in a while - and let the glory of all that was Derek sooth his troubles away. This was supposed to be Stiles’ happy place.

And yet, here he was, soaking wet, bending over backwards to identify a specific type of foliage in a sea of green. He should be using his eyes to admire Derek’s sculpted body, the perfection of his face, the stubble on his jaw, the - oh hey, that leaf looked familiar! 

“Hey, I think I found it!” he yelled in excitement and turned to Derek, waving the plant victoriously. To his utter disappointment, what he saw was Derek turning on his heels, grunting something about Stiles being able to find his way to the Jeep, and sprinting deeper into the woods. “Derek, what the hell, man? Not cool!” Stiles shouted at his retreating back. Well, at least he had a nice view, though it disappeared way too fast.

With a huff Stiles resigned to his lot and started walking towards his Jeep. His mind returned to the puzzle that was Derek’s recent behaviour. Exhibit A: He was unusually quiet, meaning he didn’t grunt as often as before at Stiles’ stories. Exhibit B: He was constantly running off to grab random books, bottles of water or - in one unforgettable occasion - an empty cereal box from the kitchen, which he then proceeded to examine in painstaking detail for at least half an hour. 

What could be causing this erratic behaviour? What was going on in that werewolf head of his? Was there trouble in Derek’s little piece of paradise, other than the supernatural kind they faced each and every week? 

If that was the case, then it was Stiles’ responsibility to help the man get out of his funk. Frankly, he was losing track of whose turn it was to save the other but that was because they were buds, the bestest bros, and the bestest bros helped a bro in need. Just like he always helped Scott. Well, maybe not exactly like Scott, if Stiles was completely honest with himself. 

Scott was the type of bro who played CoD with him. Scott was the bro he’d tell about his girlfriend problems, were he to have them. Scott was the bro who’d let him crash in his bed when his dad was working nights and in the morning they’d wake with Stiles half off the bed, his foot in Scott’s face.

Derek, on the other hand, was the type of bro a guy wanted to see smile and get lost in his wonderful green eyes. The bro whose physique made a man’s mouth water and imagination run wild. The bro that added a new spice to Stiles’ alone-time. The other type of bro.

And if he was continuing this honesty thing he had going on with himself, maybe he wouldn’t be talking to Scott about girlfriend problems any time soon. He was beginning to come to terms with the fact that he wouldn’t be able to fall for any girl while he spent most of his waking hours thinking about Derek and the way clothes just seemed to fit him.

But maybe if he helped Derek with his problem - whatever it was - he’d be able to get over his Derek-obsession, move on and start crushing on the next unattainable god or goddess that crossed his path. And before he moved on, he’d get to enjoy Derek’s beauty while helping the dude out. Oh yes, this felt like one of those plans that worked for all parties.

First, he needed to get Derek to open up and spill the beans on what was making him act so bizarrely. He needed to get Derek to confide in him. This kind of intimacy was reserved for very close friends, so a close friend Stiles would become. The closest of friends, he decided, formulating an action plan as he finally stumbled into the clearing where the Jeep was parked.

***

Operation “Get Close To Derek” was not off to a good start. Not for lack of effort on Stiles’ part, mind you. Stiles could not be blamed for missing an opportunity to sidle up close and personal to the man; if he saw an opening, he took it. He was making himself available for Derek to share his thoughts and/or problems.

He was the first and last person at their pack gatherings, always eager to help set up the loft for their chosen activity of the night; games, movies, research or just hanging out. He checked how Derek was doing every day, in person or by texting. He planned pack outings in the preserve to make sure Derek got to spend time out in the woods, where he seemed most relaxed and at peace. Naturally, Stiles made sure he was Derek’s buddy when they needed to pair off to cover wider areas.

Alas, Derek was not responding to the Operation as expected. There had been no late night discussions on what was going on in Derek’s life, no words of wisdom falling from Stiles’ lips to Derek’s eager ears. Not so much as a friendly smile from Derek. Nothing but eyebrows of annoyance and more sprinting to any other room than the one Stiles was occupying. A man with lesser self-confidence might take it personally. Because that was just plain rude. Especially as it robbed Stiles of a lot of Derek-ogling time.

But he was making up for that lost time now, as the whole pack was trudging through the forest looking for “signs” of a visiting werewolf. Stiles had no idea what he was supposed to be looking for; did passing werewolves scatter business cards in their wake? His human senses would not be picking up any werewolf scents, nor could he distinguish between a tree branch that had been broken by a running wolfman from that broken by any other forest-dwelling creature.

But Stiles was using this pack outing as an excuse to indulge in a rare long-time exposure to Derek. The way his eyes tracked Derek’s every move and the scenarios his horny teenage mind painted for his own enjoyment, Stiles wouldn’t have noticed a neon sign pointing to the strange werewolf’s lair.

So it was really no surprise to Stiles when he felt his sneaker slip as he was climbing over a small boulder. What did surprise him was the wet splash that greeted him at the end of his fall.  Maybe it was the shadow of the boulder or the dip in earth below it that had kept the puddle from drying during the last few weeks of summer drought. Whatever the reason, it was deep enough to soak Stiles from head to toe. 

Stiles stood up slowly, doing a quick pat down of his body to check for injuries. Finding nothing broken, he raised his head to discover the pack watching his ascend from the water with round, bewildered eyes. The surprised silence quickly escalated to uproarious laughter, in which Stiles couldn’t help but join. Even he could see the humour of the situation.

A stealthy glance toward Derek revealed that he hadn’t joined in the revelry but was staring at Stiles rather intensely. For a moment Stiles was worried Derek would start berating him for his clumsiness but Derek didn’t look annoyed or angry, just… very focused. On Stiles.

“Sweet of the guy to be so worried for my well-being after IGNORING ME FOR WEEKS,” Stiles thought, squeezing water from his shirt. It was a hopeless effort though, he hadn’t been this wet since the thing with the pool and lizard-Jackson. 

Stiles looked down at his shirt, clinging to his chest and stomach. His pants were glued to his ass and thighs and he was dreading the inevitable chafe. For a moment he weighed the pros and cons of stripping the pants off but he was not comfortable revealing his favourite Star Wars boxer briefs to his circle of friends.

Water was dripping into his eyes from the mop of hair plastered to his forehead. Without a dry cloth, Stiles resorted to shaking his head from side to side and sprayed a stream of water droplets all around him.

He heard a sound like a strangled gasp and was surprised to see that it came from Derek, who was now standing right next to him, his eyes zig-zagging from Stiles’ face to his wet shirt, then to the forest and pack around them. He looked like he wasn’t breathing right, faint red tint rising to his cheeks.

“Hey Derek, you alright, man? You look a little flushed.” It was Stiles’ turn to be worried about Derek. The man was breathing hard, clenching and unclenching his fists. His eyes were still moving a mile a minute, taking in Stiles in all his drenched glory, jumping to scan the forest and then returning to Stiles just as quickly.

“The only thing wrong with him is the way he’s using his dick as a divining rod to locate you.” Stiles heard Lydia’s soft whisper in his ear and as soon as her words registered in his brain, his own eyes flew to the crotch of Derek’s jeans. And there, right in front of his eyes, was an honest to god bulge. Stiles was quite familiar with bulges; he had literally personal experience on the subject and he’d seen quite a few of them in his late night forays into the world of internet porn. He knew a bulge when he saw one. There was definitely a hard dick trying to push its way out of Derek’s jeans.

As quickly as that realisation hit Stiles, the sight in front of him mumbled something that might be construed as words and stomped off into the direction of their planned route. The rest of the pack continued walking after him, elbowing each other knowingly, whispering and chuckling as they went. 

Lydia grabbed Stiles’ arm and together they kept up the rear of their little party. “It’s high time for the two of you to stop tormenting us with your sexual tension,” Lydia told him. “If it wasn’t unbearable enough to see you both try to hide your boners - not a job well done, by the way - you seem completely oblivious of your thirst for each other. I’m calling a timeout on this foolishness. You need to start communicating, tell each other how you feel.”

“You are telling me that Derek Hale, god among men, my number one sourwolf, the star of my daytime and nighttime fantasies, THAT Derek Hale has the hots for ME?” Stiles’ mind was reeling. This was mind-blowing information. And it was a GAME CHANGER that opened up whole new avenues in regards to his plan to get intimately close to Derek. 

Lydia spent the rest of the afternoon recounting him with her observations on Derek’s path to Crushtown, population: Stiles. All of which had gone totally unnoticed by Stiles, too busy hiding his own interest - unsuccessful as that had been.

But a new plan was forming in Stiles’ head as he kept glancing at Derek, taking in the possibility that he might actually get to touch all that. Operation “Get Close To Derek” would now be known as Operation “Seduce The Sourwolf”.

 

***

Stiles’ frustration was climbing to epic levels. Frustration was an old friend of his, harking back to early childhood when his jokes were clearly too advanced for his fellow six-year-olds, and all the way to his present-day frustration with Derek. What was it with the man and his lack of response to Stiles’ flirting?

Since the Puddle Tumble, Stiles had fine-tuned his approach to Derek. He was still the same old Stiles; quick with a broad smile and a well-timed joke. But he’d added something extra to his dealings with Derek, a sourwolf-bonus, one might say. 

When he walked by Derek, he made sure to let his hand make contact with the man, however briefly. A squeeze of a shoulder, quick pat on his back or letting his fingers caress Derek’s arm lightly. To his dismay, Derek did not return the touches, he just seemed to tense up and square his shoulders. But he did not pull away from the contact either.

If Derek was seated, Stiles took the seat next to him. If that meant squeezing himself into the tiny space between Derek and another pack member, so be it, Stiles didn’t mind. And usually, whoever had been sitting in Stiles’ spot (i.e. anywhere Derek-adjacent), quickly relocated to any of the spacious seats available. Soon enough there was always an empty space next to Derek, waiting for Stiles.

He showered Derek with his attention, engaged him in conversation, asked his opinion on issues and brought all Derek’s favourite snacks to movie nights; all the little things that spelled out “I care about you”. He also dropped hints of his interest towards the man in their everyday dealings with each other. A lot of hints. All the hints. 

For example, when they watched Captain America, he whispered in Derek’s ear: “Steve’s a good-looking guy and all but he’s got nothing on you, wolfman. Captain America is almost scary buff while you’re the type of buff that draws a guy in for closer examination,” followed by his disarming and sexy wink. This resulted in nothing but a glazed and distant look in Derek’s eyes and complete silence for the rest of the movie, his hands gripping the pillow in his lap. It was almost like Derek didn’t even listen to him.

Another time Stiles entered the loft shouting: “It’s time for this body to get some good old fashioned man-love, any volunteers?” But instead of Derek’s hand shooting up, he just crossed his arms and turned his back to Stiles. Though he kept glancing at Stiles during the pack meeting, clutching his arms tighter and tighter in front of himself. But the man never made a move, never flirted back, never asked Stiles to stay behind at the loft for a more hands-on training in werewolf anatomy.

Stiles was starting to think that Lydia, in all her wisdom, had been wrong this one time. Maybe Derek wasn’t into the lanky greatness that was Stiles after all. When he confronted Lydia with his doubts, her response was typically straightforward: “You’re doing it all wrong. This, whatever this is, that you think is flirting, won’t work. Derek is too deep in his delusion of ‘not being worthy of love’ to recognise what’s right in front of him. You two need to have an actual conversation, with correct terminology like ‘want’, ‘sex’ and ‘relationship’.”

But what did Lydia know about men and their complex inner workings, really. The heartfelt discussion about feelings and relationships comes clearly AFTER the acknowledgement of both parties wanting to engage in the horizontal tango. So that was what needed to happen first. And if it didn’t happen, then that was a clear sign that Derek just wasn’t into him. Which would be crushing but hardly Stiles first go at that particular rodeo.

Not that he was giving up hope just yet. Stiles’ desires run deep and his plans long, he could keep flirting and wait for Derek’s opening for a few more weeks. Or months. Or years. He was still young and Derek would definitely be worth the wait. He’d give Derek more time to make his move.

****

The days of summer holiday were running out. There had been a flurry of celebrations on account of acceptances to colleges, intense planning on how to keep up both college life and pack life and plenty of bonding time to make up for the inevitable shortage of it when studying would become a priority.

And what would be better for bonding than a good, vigorous game of softball. It had been a close one (15-14, Stiles’ team was winning) but in the end, the final run had been too close to call so they decided to call it a “draw” - though Stiles would go to his grave swearing that Derek’s throw had reached the home base before Isaac did. 

But it was all good; the scorching heat had mellowed into a lovely, warm and fragrant evening, the mood of the pack was pleasantly tired and relaxed. Stiles plucked at his sweaty shirt as he plopped down on the ground and accepted the soda handed to him. He wasn’t listening to the quiet chatter of the pack around him, just enjoying the slight ache in his muscles and the coolness of the drink. This was the life: a good game with friends, Derek in his line of sight all day, something cool and wet to quench his thir…

A deluge of cold water cascaded over him. His heart and lungs took a moment to get back in the game and then kicked in double-time. Blinking the water from his eyes, he saw Isaac grinning at him, empty cooler in hand. This was a declaration of war!

Lunging to his feet, Stiles tugged the drenched shirt over his head and whipped it right in Isaac’s face. Isaac’s horrified shriek had them all doubling over in laughter until the wet and sweaty shirt claimed new victims. Drops of water flew in the air as the shirt was tossed around. Stiles jumped up and down with glee, invigorated as much by the cold shower as he was by the laughter and hysteria gripping the group. 

He saw Scott take aim at him and ducked down as the wet shirt flew over his head. He could hear the splat as the shirt made contact with something behind him. Stiles turned a quick 180 and saw the shirt draped over Derek’s face. He was both extremely curious and slightly terrified to see what Derek’s reaction would be. 

While the others had been quick to rid themselves of the shirt, Derek seemed to relish its damp embrace. He took a deep shuddering breath and when he finally peeled the shirt off, the expression on his face was far from the annoyance and suffering Stiles had expected. Instead, Stiles was greeted with a look of pure and unadulterated hunger. Derek’s eyes locked with Stiles’ and a feral smile spread on his lips. 

Stiles’ heart skipped a beat and then launched into double speed. The look on Derek’s face was the one he’d fantasised on so many nights. Derek looked at him like he’d been starving for weeks and Stiles was all of his favourite foods rolled into one delicious, Stiles-sized bite. And Stiles wanted to get devoured by Derek. And he wanted to gobble up Derek in turn.

It seemed that a wet shirt in the face was the thing that finally triggered Derek’s response to Stiles’ advances. He kept his eyes on Stiles while he licked his lips, catching a bit of drool. Stiles took in Derek’s tense form, ready to pounce. Ready to pounce on HIM! And Stiles was so ready to be pounced. This was what he’d been waiting for, this was what he’d been trying to instigate all summer. 

Everything seemed to finally fall into place. His nervous energy was gone and in its place, there was nothing but eager anticipation. “Come and get me, big guy”, Stiles encouraged with the joyous smile of a man who was finally getting what he’d always wanted. 

And then Derek was on him, squeezing Stiles to his body and kissing him voraciously. Stiles’ mind was swimming, his whole being nothing but the feel of Derek against him, Derek’s lips on his and Derek’s hands holding on to him like he feared Stiles would slip away. But there was no way in hell Stiles would let go of Derek, not now that he finally, FINALLY could let his hands feel and grasp all of him. Stiles’ hands slid down Derek’s back and grabbed the globes of his ass. Exactly as firm and round as it looked. Derek’s back muscles shifted underneath his hands as they made their way back up and into Derek’s hair. Stiles’ fingers tugged at Derek’s hair that was just as soft and luscious as it looked. He tilted Derek’s head and kissed Derek with all he had. Derek needed to understand just how much Stiles wanted this; how much he wanted Derek and how much he wanted to give Derek in turn.

Derek’s hands landed on his ass and suddenly Stiles felt his feet leave the ground. He squeezed his legs around Derek’s waist as the man started carrying him away from the annoying buzzing around them. Oh, that’s right, they were still at the park where they’d been playing with the pack. But Derek - his hero - was fixing that, taking them away from the noise  and hopefully to somewhere with a big soft bed.

While Derek was busy navigating them to the Jeep, Stiles took advantage of Derek’s neck’s proximity to his mouth. The skin there was absolutely delicious. Lickable. Biteable. Stiles had a hypothesis that all of Derek was going to be just as delicious as his neck, and he planned to test that hypothesis in the immediate future.

He had a brief moment of victorious gloating as his mind offered him a fuzzy playback of the conversation he’d had with Lydia. He’d proved her wrong, alright! And look at what he’d won: his very own sourwolf! Because this one was for keeps, Stiles was not letting Derek back into the wild again. This short kiss’n grind session had already made Stiles an addict for life.

Derek let his feet drop back to the ground and Stiles felt the Jeep at his back and Derek pressing to his front. Their mouths slotted together again and Stiles sucked Derek’s tongue into his mouth. Derek bucked his groin against Stiles’ and growled “Get in” in his ear.

As Stiles climbed inside the Jeep he heard Derek order the pack to stay clear of the loft. A quick inventory of the things he wanted to do with Derek had Stiles adding “At least a week!” to the instructions. “Do we need to stop for lube or do you buy in bulk?” Stiles inquired when Derek took his seat. Derek’s nostrils flared as he grabbed Stiles by the back of his head and pulled him in for a quick kiss. “I’ve got enough for tonight, we’ll get more tomorrow”, he grunted. “Now drive!”

“Will do!” Stiles winked at him, a smile full of promise on his lips.


End file.
